


The Reporter on the Cliff

by Shipsaremyreasonforlife



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Happy Ending, Homeless Jughead, I do not approve of bughead, Jarchie - Freeform, Kinda timeline compliant, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, bughead - Freeform, eventually, i started this before the season ended and it turned out very different from the show, jughead stays with the andrews for a while, nvm not timeline compliant at all, so it won't be for long, suicidal jughead, unintentional jealousy, unintentional pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-09-29 22:57:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10146560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shipsaremyreasonforlife/pseuds/Shipsaremyreasonforlife
Summary: Jughead, reporter for the blue and gold. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a name. That's all Jughead is. Until the emptiness becomes too much to control. Then, something interesting happens.





	1. Prologue

Jughead was a reporter. Nothing more. He told the stories, he didn't get involved in them. That's just the way it was. Jughead was a third party, someone to watch everything happen and take notes. Jughead used the stories he watched unfold to make him appear to be just as all the others were. And most of all, he couldn't tell anyone that this was the way it was. Because how could anyone understand that being different isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Being "special" doesn't make you loved. It's easier to just not have any feelings on the matter at all. So when he kisses Betty, that's all it was. Someone trying to behave as people should behave, in the way that would make the most sense based on the situation. Jughead wasn't stupid, he'd seen the way Betty looked at him, but he'd be lying if he said he looked at her the same way. 

Jughead loved Betty, sure, just not the way she loved him. Jughead didn't think he would ever love someone that way. Maybe he wished that he would. So when he was in her room, and she was standing there looking at him, he did what he had learned from all the situations he had observed, and kissed her. And he went with it. It's not like dating Betty was difficult. They had been friends for ages, and kissing her was just an addition to that friendship, he told himself. But at the same time, it was because of that friendship that Jughead felt he couldn't date Betty. It was like lying to her. And while Jughead lied to Betty about many things, his living situation, for one; lying to Betty about his feelings towards her just felt mean. Because his not having a house or family only affected him, but his feelings weren't only his own. Now they affected Betty too. And Jughead hated that.

He hated the fact that anything he did had an effect on another person. Because no matter what he did, Jughead just couldn't seem to get it right. He always ended up hurting someone, no matter how many times he identified the situation, and came up with the most logical solution. It never worked. And Jughead just couldn't figure out why.

And then there was Archie. That was another thing Jughead couldn't figure out. Archie and Jughead had also been friends forever, yet it was a different friendship than the one he and Betty had. Because his and Archie's friendship had always seemed more like a war. Not between he and Archie, but between Archie and The Girl. Whomever Archie was enamored with at the time. A constant fight for attention between the Best Friend and the Girl Friend. And the girlfriend always, always, won. It didn't matter how long Archie and he had had plans for, if the Girlfriend had wanted to go get ice cream that day, then ice cream for Archie it was. 

It wasn't usually a problem. Jughead was used to it by the time they reached high school. But then, last summer, when they had planned their road trip, Jughead was finally ready to tell Archie. To tell Archie the full truth. About why they always hung out at Archie's house, about why Archie had never met Jughead’s dad, he was going to be more honest with Archie than he had been with anyone else in a long time. He was going to expose himself completely, he was going to look Archie in the eyes and say, “I'm not okay.” Jughead didn't know if more difficult words had ever been spoken.

But then Archie bailed. He didn't even say why, but Jughead knew. It was because of a Girl. A mystery girl who Archie, the very same Archie who told Jughead all of his secrets, wouldn't speak to him of. And so, Jughead had to close himself off again. Wrap up his wounds and prepare for another day of battle because Archie wasn't there to save him and if Archie wasn't there, no one else was, so what was the point in trying to heal, if the wounds would only deepen with the next day’s fight?

Maybe that was part of the reason why Jughead kissed Betty. Because he wanted Archie to feel at least a fraction of the pain Jughead felt when he saw Archie with some girl. Betty loved Archie, too, she had for a long time, and Archie took advantage of that love by keeping her constantly wrapped around his finger but never giving her enough. And now Jughead took advantage of that love too, but for different reasons. He used the love to hurt Archie, to make him jealous of their relationship, to make him realize exactly what Jughead felt whenever Archie chose a Girl over his best friend. While Archie used the love to keep Betty safe, to keep their friendship preserved forever. Jughead was jaded and corrupt, where Archie was pure and innocent. Jughead dealt with pain and suffering and poverty every day, where Archie’s biggest problem was whether or not he would be able to play music. And Jughead hated him for it. But he also couldn't help the feeling that arose in the pits of his stomach whenever he saw Archie, the constant need to protect the boy who needed nothing. 

Archie kept Jughead perpetually on a cliff’s edge. Archie was the one who lead him to the cliff’s edge, he was the one who turned away from him on the cliff’s edge, but every time, it was also Archie who coaxed Jughead away from the cliff’s edge, although he would never know that. Because the cliff’s edge isn't literal, though Jughead wished it were so sometimes, because that would be easier than reality. And Archie would never know that he was the one to constantly fix Jughead because he was also the one to constantly cause Jughead to break.

And so, Jughead forgave Archie for forgetting him, as he always did, because Archie was the only one to ever be able to get Jughead back from the cliff's edge and Jughead’s only fear was that one day maybe he would be on the cliff’s edge, and he would look back, and Archie wouldn't be there. Because only then would Jughead truly have nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a sunny day. For most that's a good omen, but for Jughead it was not. Because sun meant no thunder. And no thunder meant football practice was on. And football practice meant Archie and he wouldn't see each other, for most of the day. 

“I don't understand why you can't just skip, you're not captain, so what does it matter?”

“Come on, Jug, I have to be there for my team! I'm not the captain, but I do like to think I'm fairly good at football, the team needs me!”

Yeah. He has to be there for his team, but being there for his best friend doesn't matter at all.

“I thought you said you didn't have practice today!”

“That was when we thought it was going to rain! But the day turned out to be so nice, and we haven't been able to practice lately, all my spare time needs to go towards football, for scholarships!”

“But then you're also allowed plenty of time for music, aren't you? And where does that leave me? Kicked out on the road like an unwanted puppy.”

Wow. That got a bit literal for a second. Jughead didn't really want to fight with Archie, especially over stupid football. 

“Listen, Archie, just forget it. It's fine.” It wasn't really fine, this was the fourth time this month that Archie had left him in the dust. “Really, it's fine. We can hang out some other time.” Jughead doubted that. But the relief in Archie's eyes was evident, and Jughead was too tired to argue any further today. 

“Really?! Thank you so much, Jughead, it really means a lot to me. How about we hang out Monday? I’ll buy you Pop’s, is that alright?”

“Alright, alright.” Jughead held up his arms in mock defeat. “I’ll do it for the burger.” Jughead never could say no to Pop’s.

“Great! I can't wait! Man, I wish we could talk more, but I've got to get to practice. I'll see you Monday, though!”

Yeah, right. 

That's what Jughead felt like saying. Instead, he smiled and waved as Archie turned his back on him, weaving his way through the steadily increasing mass of students filling the school hallway.

Maybe someday Jughead would go to one of Archie's practices. Or at least a game. Is that the kind of thing a best friend does? Jughead doesn't know anymore. Back when they were kids, it was nice and simple. Just the two of them, along with their other friends, of course, but the two of them, they were inseparable. Like family. Jughead would spend days at Archie's house, and those days were the best days of his life. Archie probably doesn't remember a single one of them, Jughead thought bitterly. 

“Jughead! I thought I saw your beanie!”

Jughead turned from the fading form of Archie, to see Betty, chipper as usual, smiling at him. Her eyes were bright blue, and shimmering, but Jughead knew that dark secrets lay behind that brightness, enough to parallel his own. Yet somehow, Betty always managed to see the bright side of things. Jughead considered taking lessons from her.

“Hey, Betty!" Jughead blinked. "I assume you're going to the football practice, or cheerleading practice or whatever?”

“No, actually, I'm free today, cheerleading practice is in the gym, so we don't care about the weather. Why, are you doing anything?”

Oh, dear. Was he doing anything? No, probably not. Return “home” and stare at the ceiling, or whatever would be above his head. But did he want to do anything with Betty? No, probably not. He did love hanging out with Betty, even going on dates with her was relatively enjoyable. But, something about the prospect of being around people, even Betty, was just so off-putting, Jughead was tempted to say that yes, in fact, he was busy. But then he remembered Archie. And how every time they made plans, Archie made plans that were infinitely more important. So, why couldn’t he do the same?

“Yeah, I’m actually kind of busy today, but do you want to go out on Monday?” Notice the intentional use of ‘go out,’ rather than ‘hang out.’ The perfect boyfriend. Going out with his girlfriend, to get back at his best friend.

Betty very nearly lit up at that, and Jughead couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty, but brushed it aside, deciding that he was going on the date to make Betty happy, just also to make Archie jealous.

“That sounds great! You wanna go to Pop’s?”

Betty was making this whole revenge thing incredibly easy for Jughead, going to the same place where he and Archie had made plans to go was likely to do even more damage, enough maybe to make Archie realize all the mistakes he'd made when deciding whom he was spending time with.

“Yeah, that's what I was thinking, too, I can't wait to see you there!”

This entire “happiness” act was getting exhausting, how did Betty manage to put on a happy face all the time, at least when they were talking about dates?

“Well, great minds think alike, I guess! If you're busy now, I'll go see what Ronnie and Kevin are up to. Are you sure you can't come?”

“Yeah, sorry I can't come, I really would like to hang out with you guys.” That was kind of true. The gang did bring out his happiest side, but at the same time, it was exhausting being around them, or anyone else for that matter.

“All right, I'll see you Monday, then, Jughead! Have fun with whatever you're doing!”

“Thanks, but I doubt it'll be that exciting. It's just… you know, school projects and stuff… that kind of thing. Anyway, I don't want to hold you up. Bye, Betty!”

“Oh, too bad. I'm sure you'll get it all finished, though, you're great in school!” 

With that, Betty hugged Jughead, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, which Jughead was surprised by, until he remembered that they were, in fact, dating.

The minute Betty left, Jughead relaxed the tension he didn't realize he'd been holding. Jughead knew better than nearly anyone else how much pain Betty went through, with her parents potentially being murderers, having her sister kept away from home because of her pregnancy, and who knows what else. And yet, almost every time they were together, she seemed so genuinely happy. How does that make sense? Jughead was just using the stories he found and documented to make his acting more lifelike, so no one would ever suspect anything was wrong with him. Betty had told Jughead all of her problems, yet somehow, Jughead couldn't work up the courage to tell Betty his own, much less anyone else. He had been ready to tell Archie, on that road trip, and that's how this all started! If only Archie had gone with him, Jughead would have finally told someone his problems, he wouldn't have kissed Betty, he would have… he would have… he would have what?

Gone frolicking with Archie into the sunset? Jughead sincerely doubted that was the way it would have worked. Most likely, Archie would have bailed some other time, Jughead still would have kissed Betty, just because it was what was expected to be done. 

Snorting to himself at the thought of frolicking into the sunset (because really, there was no fairytale ending for him), Jughead, too, left the school to go… somewhere. Not “home,” definitely not. At the moment there wasn't even a false home to call his own, just his pack with his limited belongings and the clothes on his back. But it was fine, Jughead didn't need a home, not really. “Home” is just a place to sleep, and Jughead could do that anywhere. So he was fine! No need for anyone to worry about him, there was nothing for them to notice, and it didn't matter anyway. His problems didn't matter to anyone, they were busy with their own many problems, so why should Jughead burden them with his own? That's what Jughead told himself. But did he believe it? Almost.

After many more similar thoughts, Jughead finally began walking away from school, wandering aimlessly through the streets. Jughead didn't walk on the sidewalk most of the time, Riverdale didn't have busy traffic, and even if he did happen to get hit, well, that would be that, he supposed. Besides, he was too tired to walk over to the sidewalk.

Jughead always seemed to be out of energy as of late. He slept most of the time, because dreams are safer than reality, and even if dreams are terrible to you, they can't hurt you the way life can. Often Jughead would go straight from school to sleep, in whatever place he was “living” at the moment. And yet, it seemed that every time he woke up, Jughead only got more exhausted.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Jughead looked around, only to find himself in front of Archie's house. Not a big surprise, Archie's house was often a place of comfort for Jughead. When Jughead was a little younger, and Archie had been grounded, he would sneak over to Archie's house in the middle of the night, and the two would whisper proudly of how they had evaded Fred’s attempts to separate them. 

Jughead smiled sadly, looking up at the home before him. It really was lovely. It was the way a home should be, with a parent and a child who care about each other so much. It made Jughead’s heart ache.

Archie wouldn't be back from practice yet, but Fred Andrews might be in there, he always managed to be home in time to meet Archie, because that's what a dad should do. Right? 

Not like Jughead would know. 

Jughead turned his head slightly, enough to be able to peer into the Andrews’ house. Sure enough, Fred Andrews was in the window, watching something on TV. Probably football. Jughead subliminally took a step forward, wanting so much to be able to be in there with him, cheering on whatever team was playing to victory. Jughead couldn't care less about football. But the prospect of being with a real father, someone who might ask how his day was- and actually care about the answer- was almost too much to pass up. Jughead stepped towards the gate leading up the Andrews’ home, then hesitated. Fred was surely busy. He was enjoying himself at home, he didn't want to spend time with a teenage kid who didn't even want to spend time with himself. So Jughead backed away from the home, heading toward his own “home,” which tonight would likely be a park bench unless he did some really quick thinking. At least it wasn't raining tonight.

As it turns out, Jughead was not adept at quick thinking when it came to his own well being. There were plenty of times when he was great at quick thinking. When he was working with Betty on a report, for one. But Jughead didn't care enough to even plan where he was going to sleep. Oh, well. He would figure it out tomorrow, Jughead thought to himself, as he sat down on the park bench that was currently “home” and the sun set behind Riverdale. 

The bench was most likely the most uncomfortable bed he had ever had the pleasure of using, Jughead soon realized. Sighing, he rolled over, trying to get comfortable, but only succeeded in rolling off of the bench entirely, landing with a thunk on the pavement below him.

“Great,” Jughead muttered to himself, rubbing his head painfully, “I'm probably the worst homeless guy to ever exist.” 

It was in that moment that Jughead realized the true severity of his situation. He was alone, truly and utterly. He was sleeping in a park, he had no home, no one to turn to. It was all dark walls and the infinite abyss. 

Still on the pavement, Jughead turned over onto his back. It was completely black around him, night had taken over, and the stars shone bright around him, not even the moon was there to blot them out. They were beautiful and vast, pulsing and twinkling those many millions of light years away. He wondered what it took to be a star.

In that moment, Jughead wished for nothing more than to be a star, bright and shimmering and far, far away, but seen and loved by everyone nonetheless. 

Star light, star bright,  
The first star I see tonight,  
I wish I may, I wish I might,  
Have the wish I wish tonight.

Jughead knew he couldn't be a star. He couldn't be anyone else but himself. The thought terrified him.

‘I bet there's someone else wishing on these stars right now, too.’ Jughead thought to himself, ‘What right do I have to steal their star-wish for myself, on something so selfish? I bet they would have wished for world peace.’ 

But Jughead couldn't wish for world peace. All he wanted in that moment was to be far away, to be a star. 

‘If I can't be a star, then I wish I could be on a star, the fiery giants that they are.’ Jughead wished to the stars above him, ‘At least then I wouldn't have to be me anymore.’

With that last thought, Jughead closed his eyes, finally blotting out the stars that taunted him with their freedom, and turning to the darkness that enveloped him, as it always did.

***

He was alone. But Jughead didn't feel lonely. He sat up and looked around. He was in the Andrews’ home, in Archie's room, sitting on his bed. Archie's room was so familiar, Jughead could make out the individual trophies and chachkies that littered his walls and desk, despite the darkness.

Jughead stood up, taking a closer look around the room he knew so well, it might have been his own. Feeling no sense of urgency, and having no reason to do anything in particular, Jughead walked to Archie's desk, and began rifling through its drawers. In the second to last drawer, Jughead stopped. There was nothing in the drawer but for a series of letters.

They were all written by Jughead.

They were all addressed to Archie.

They were all unopened.

Jughead's heart skipped a beat as he picked up one of the letters, tearing it open neatly. His eyes fell to the words written on the first line

“Dear Archie,

I'm sorry it had to come to this.  
I'm sorry that I have to say goodbye so soon. After all-- ” it read. Jughead put it back abruptly, not wanting to read any more of that letter. He picked up another letter, and began reading once again.

“Dear Archie,

Before I say anything else, I want you to know that I managed to stay this long because of you.  
I don't want you to--” Jughead dropped the second letter on the floor, he couldn't bear to read any more of that one. Jughead picked up a third letter, and a fourth, and a fifth, and so on and so on, and they all were the same.

Suicide notes.

Each one handwritten for Archie, by Jughead.

Each one unopened.

Jughead began to feel lonely. He looked around him, at the floor. Dozens of letters littered the once tidy room. 

Archie wasn't here. No one was. No one was here for Jughead. 

Jughead sat on the floor, in the midst of his hundreds of letters, and stared at the writing blankly.

Archie didn't care. He didn't care about Jughead's life and he didn't care about Jughead's death and no one else did so what did it matter if he stayed alive at all what did it all matter what did it all matter what did it all matter and why.

***  
Jughead opened his eyes, slowly. Maybe dreams could hurt as badly as life did, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I was writing this chapter I thought to myself "hm, maybe I'll make this a bit more lighthearted, it's getting pretty dark," but then I just made it even more depressing. Sorry about that. Not too sorry though, because there's more to come! Thanks for reading, I hoped you've liked it thus far!


	3. Chapter 3

Further opening his eyes, Jughead sat up, and looked around. He was still on the ground, next to the bench, where he had fallen earlier. It appeared to be early morning, the sun had just risen, and was filtering through the already-changing leaves around him. It was only early fall, so Jughead hadn't been very cold in the night, but he was still shivering when he awoke. 

‘It's okay,’ Jughead thought to himself, ‘None of it means anything, none of it’s real, it's fine,’ but even Jughead had a hard time believing himself on this one.

Jughead stood, brushing dirt off of his pants, searching for the beanie that had fell off in the night, and put it on. Then, all Jughead did was sit down again, this time on the bench, head in his hands.

That dream hadn't been the first of its sort, but they never got easier to forget, to brush away as a simple dream without any real effect. But dreams are based on our life experiences, and Jughead couldn't deny that a lot of the dream rang true to his waking thoughts and feelings.

“It's okay, it means nothing, it was just a dream, it was just a dream, so just forget it already, just forget it,” Jughead whispered to himself, now sitting on the balls of his feet, rocking back and forth on his toes, head down and eyes screwed shut. 

“It doesn't matter, just forget it, just forget it, no one cares, it doesn't matter, just forget it,” Jughead continually whispered to himself, not trusting himself enough to open his eyes.

“Jughead?”

Jughead froze, his head still down. He knew that voice, he had grown up with that voice. 

Jughead raised his head, to see the concerned eyes of Fred Andrews staring down at him. 

No getting out of this one, Jughead had been caught red-handed. Guilty as charged.

“Hey, Fred. How are you? I, uh, I’d better go… get ready for school… um… it was nice talking to you… Have a nice day!”

With that, Jughead picked up his bag, and made to walk towards the park exit. But before he could get very far, he felt Fred's hand on his shoulder, and grimaced, unable to think of anything but of how Fred probably talked to Archie about all of Archie problems, and Jughead didn't have a father like that at all. 

Jughead turned around, Fred's hand still on his shoulder, barely managing to look him in the eye.

“Yeah, Fred?”

“It's Saturday, Jughead. There's no school today.”

“Oh… is that right?” Jughead scratched the back of his head awkwardly, “Well, anyway, I don't want to hold you up, I'll just go not get ready for school now, bye!”

Once again, Jughead tried to walk away, and once again, Fred Andrews blocked the way.

“Jughead… do you want to stay at my house tonight, or however long you want?”

Jughead felt the breath rush out of him. Live… there… with the Andrews? Have a bed to sleep in, with a mattress? The thought of that was so comforting, Jughead felt like lying down and sleeping right then and there. But Fred Andrews had other plans in mind.

“Listen, Jughead, I don't know what's been going on in your life to make this happen,” Fred gestured at the park and the bench and the concrete sidewalk where Jughead had spent his night, “And if you can't talk about it, that's fine. Just come back home with me, let's get some food in you.”

“I… Fred… Mr. Andrews…” Jughead hadn't called Fred “Mr. Andrews” in years. “I… I don't want to bother you, it's not a big deal, I can…”

“Jughead. Nothing you do could ever bother me. The moment you need anything, come straight to me. Now let's go, I was just going out for a morning walk, but that can wait.”

“I don't want to interrupt…” Jughead tried meekly, unsure of why he was fighting Fred's help, but feeling a need to do it anyway.

“Come on, I'm making pancakes for breakfast. You can't miss out on the Saturday morning family breakfast, can you?”

Family?

Were they… family?

Stunned at Fred's casual use of the word ‘family,’ Jughead allowed himself to be gently pulled along by Fred Andrews, reminding him of a time long past, when Fred had pulled Archie and Jughead back to the Andrews’ home, after a long day of play.

Fred was silent on the walk to the Andrews’ home, and Jughead looked up at him periodically to find a range of emotions swirling across his face. Concern, anger, fear… and something else, something Jughead couldn't recognize. It was tender though, Jughead found himself wishing he knew the name of the emotion.

Finally, they arrived. The home of Fred and Archie Andrews. A large, multi-level home, with several guest rooms and a finished basement. Jughead never tired of looking up at its welcoming front, knowing there was only more love within.

Jughead stopped, marveling at the beautiful home before him, and Fred stepped ahead, unlocking the door to let them both in.

“You coming in?” Fred asked, smiling at Jughead the same way he had seen Fred smile at Archie. Mutely, Jughead nodded, and walked towards the door, unbelieving that any of this was real, because how could Fred Andrews know any of this, and not hate him, how could anyone not hate him?

Jughead walked in through the spacious entryway, and found that despite the many times Jughead had been to the Andrews home, he didn't know what to do with himself.

Until,

“Hey, Jughead, come here a second. There's something I want to ask you.”

‘Here it comes,’ Jughead thought, bracing himself, ‘He's going to tell me everything I've done wrong, and I'm going to have to listen to him, and he's going to hate me, I don't want him to hate me,’

Reluctantly, Jughead walked to Fred, who was in the kitchen, making breakfast.

In a low voice, Fred asked, “Would you mind waking Archie for me? I had you come over here because I didn't want to keep yelling over to you.”

Jughead was surprised, and he was sure it reflected in his face, but he nodded his head, and went to go upstairs where he knew Archie's room was.

“Actually, wait, Jughead.”

Jughead paused.

“Like I said, I don't know what's going on in your life, and you don't have to tell me anything. I'm just an old man trying to keep his life together. But, you should talk to someone. I'm sure Archie would understand, and would want you to tell him, after all, you're his best friend.”

Fred must have seen the panicked look on Jughead's face at the mention of Archie, because he smiled and continued on, “I know it's hard to talk to people, especially the ones you care about. But they want the best for you, and hiding from them won't make them more happy. All right, that's all. Go on and wake Archie up.”

As Jughead tread toward the stairs, Fred's words, mixed with his own thoughts, played through in his head.

‘He's right,’ Jughead thought, ‘I'm a coward. A lowly coward without respect for anyone and deserving respect from no one. I haven't told Archie because I was being selfish and trying to take the easy way out. I shouldn't have ever come here.’

And then, Jughead was in Archie's room, and it was exactly like in the dream. Jughead felt the urge to walk over to the desk and open the second drawer to the bottom, just to make sure no letters were there. But he knew that he would find nothing in there, maybe a stray pencil or a notebook, but no letters. Not yet.

Jughead's eyes strayed to the bed, where Archie lay asleep. He was under the covers and curled comfortably on his side. His features were truly beautiful, clean and cut, Jughead could understand why all the girls swooned over him. But the more Jughead watched him, the more he found himself wishing Archie would wake, because in sleep he was cold, and Jughead wanted to see the golden sunlight return to his eyes.

Jughead laid a hand on Archie's bare shoulder, and shivers sent up his spine. Quickly, Jughead snatched back his hand, but when archie didn't move, he put his hand back, hesitantly, and felt his skin prickle. Archie's skin was soft, and Jughead remembered a time in elementary school when they went on a field trip. Obviously, the two of them were ‘buddies’, and they had held hands for the entirety of the trip. It had been an enforced rule, but Jughead couldn't help but marvel in the innocence of it all.

Archie stirred, and Jughead removed his hand once again. Archie's eyes opened, and he might have been an angel, because there was no way a human being could look the way Archie did in that moment.

Archie looked confused, but then smiled and sat up, yawning and stretching as he did. 

“What're you doing here, Jughead?” Even his voice was sunlight. How was the morning doing this to him?

“Guess I thought I'd just stop by for Saturday breakfast.”

“Oh, that's right!” Archie said, yawning again, “Usually I help him make breakfast, I wonder why he didn't wake me up. Less work for me, anyway!”

Archie stood up, and walked about the room, opening a drawer and taking out a t-shirt before pulling it over his head. Archie looked over at Jughead and smiled again, and Jughead smiled back, probably blushing, because how could anyone avoid smiling at Archie. 

“Well, let's head down, then.” Archie said, and together they headed downstairs to the dining room, chatting about everything and nothing and it was perfect.

The scent of pancakes wafted through the air as they walked toward the dining room, and Jughead couldn't remember the last time he'd smelled something so delicious, it made his mouth water. Then, suddenly before him, was a feast fit for a king. Large fluffy pancakes stacked in a pile in the center of the table, there must have been at least fifteen. Located in an array around the table was a series of equally delicious-looking toppings, ranging from raspberries and strawberries to syrup and even vanilla ice cream. Best of all, Fred Andrews was standing behind one of the three chairs, proudly grinning at Archie and Jughead.

“Wow, dad, you really went all out today!” Archie exclaimed as he took a seat, Jughead following close behind, still marveling at the sight. 

“I couldn't help it! We do have a guest, after all.” Fred said, smiling at Jughead, and Jughead smiled back, feeling slightly guilty for making Fred go through all this work just for him, but the meal in front of him was too tempting to turn down. Wasn't he selfish, Jughead thought in the back of his mind.

“Hey, don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining!” Archie responded, helping himself to a heaping pile of pancakes, and reaching for several of the toppings.

Jughead, too, filled his own plate, and the three began to eat, talking, too, when it fit them, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if they ate like this, together, every single day.

There was a time when they did. Long ago, when Jughead would come over to Archie's early in the morning, or stay overnight, and they would eat just like they were now. 

Archie was still so similar to the way he was back then. He had the same smile, the same laugh, and still, when he looked at Jughead, like he was now, it was as if he were not thinking of anything but him. It was torture and bliss all at once.

Archie was still looking at him, almost expectantly. Jughead pieced the puzzle together, and soon realized that he was missing a piece. Archie had asked him a question, and Jughead had been paying no attention.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Jughead asked, bewildered, he had completely lost track of the entire conversation.

Archie laughed good-naturedly, but then took on a more somber look that didn't suit him and repeated himself, “I asked how things are going with Betty.”

Betty?

“You two are going out, right?”

Oh, no. 

He was dating Betty. He had kissed her. They had planned to go on a date to Pop’s in just two days time! There was something wrong with Jughead, there must be, because how could he have forgotten that Betty wasn't just a close friend.

Oh, no.

What had he been thinking? That he could just re-enact the stories he had watched, and everything would go perfectly? That he could date Betty, and nothing bad would come of it? Well, great job on that front, Jughead thought. 

Archie and Fred were still looking at him, and for a moment, Jughead considered lying. Say that everything was great between them, that they were practically two lovebirds in a nest. But looking at Archie, his best friend, Jughead knew he couldn't lie, at least about something this… trivial. Jughead hated to say it, but that's what it was. Jughead's relationship with Betty was trivial. 

“Oh, yeah. We're, ah, dating, but… I think I'm going to break up with her on Monday.” They hadn't been dating long, surely she wouldn't mind so much. But, Jughead still felt like a terrible person, he felt rotten to the core. He had lied to everyone, to his closest friends, about his feelings, his life, Jughead felt disgusting.

“I just don't like her the way I thought I did, we’re good friends, but nothing more than that. Maybe it's just that I've been spending a lot of time with a lot of people, I haven't really thought about how I feel about her.” Jughead managed to further explain without looking too disgusted with himself. He had toyed with people, real people, whom he cared about, and they didn't even know. Who could bear to live with him? Jughead was barely managing to live with himself, it made sense that he was homeless because who wants to live with a fraud?

But Archie and Fred didn't hear his internal turmoil, they just nodded as if they had both been through the very same thing, which Jughead supposed they had, and returned to eating, talking about the most recent football practice, leaving Jughead to over think in peace.

Before too long, though, Archie was standing up, taking his plate to the sink, and going upstairs, for reasons unbeknownst to Jughead. He looked questioningly over to Fred, who shrugged, seemingly as confused as Jughead was. So, Jughead stood, depositing his own plate in the sink, and followed his friend upstairs only to find his door closed and a muffled voice sounding through the door.

Rather than returning to the kitchen as Jughead knew he should, Jughead turned his head slightly, so as to better hear what Archie was saying

He could only pick up bits and pieces, but Jughead was a reporter, he made do with what he could.

“... I know, I just thought…” 

A long pause.

“All right … … be there… … no, nothing to do…”

Another long pause.

“Just dad… … doesn't matter…”

A final long pause.

“Okay. Bye, Betty.”

The sound of a window closing. Footsteps.

Jughead went to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Jughead would have confronted Archie, Jughead should have confronted Archie, but something held him back. Maybe sleeping on concrete had further broken his mind.

Archie had been talking to Betty through the window. Jughead knew he did that, the two of them had often called to Betty before when he was at Archie's house.

But Archie wasn't only talking to Betty, he had been making plans with her. He told her he had nothing to do that day, he had told her it was only his dad at home with him.

Why? Why would he do that? Didn't he want to talk to Jughead, ever? Would he continue to bail and bail and bail on Jughead until he forgot Jughead existed? Maybe that was what Jughead deserved, for being so negligent of his girlfriend, of the world, maybe this was payback. Or worse, maybe Archie knew. Knew about Jughead's situation and didn't care, or worse, he hated Jughead for it, or at least hated him for not telling him about it. Jughead definitely deserved it. 

As if in a trance, Jughead unlocked the bathroom door, and walked downstairs, in time to see Archie through on his letterman jacket, throw Jughead a quick smile and wave, before opening the front door and walking out. 

Jughead followed shortly after him, only wanting one thing in that moment.


	4. Chapter 4

Jughead didn't just want it, he needed it. 

At this point, he was beyond all hope, beyond the point of reason. He wanted to find Death, and plead for the scythe to swing down upon him and reap his dirty soul. But it wasn't that easy. Jughead supposed it never was. 

Especially in Riverdale, death never came without a price, one final coin to be taken from him. But Jughead didn't care anymore, what does a price matter if you're dead. 

Jughead walked through the streets of Riverdale blindly, bumping into cars and the curb as he went, each time taking it as a sign that this had to come to an end. And maybe it did. There is a time for every living creature to leave this Earth, and some have to leave earlier than others. Some get to live long, beautiful lives because they were beautiful creatures. But some beautiful creatures have their lives shortened by the cruel tides of fate and some ugly creatures live their lives long, and the longer they live, the more lives they shorten. Jughead was neither beautiful nor ugly, he was simply there. Another creature, another day, another life gone by. There. Nothing else. And there's no purpose to continuing life if the creature has no purpose, Jughead mused.

Jughead walked to the relics of his old “home,” now under construction, and felt an odd feeling well up within him. Jughead hadn't cried in years, he'd built up a resistance to it. Or maybe he was even more broken than he thought. But now that he was here, on the precipice, Jughead felt tears well up in his eyes. He wasn't sad, not exactly, nor was he regretting what would happen, but this was more of a feeling of nostalgia. Maybe you do see your life flash before your eyes, because in the moment, all Jughead could think of was of when he was young. Young in elementary school, first meeting Archie and playing with him in the park, the very same one he had slept in only last night. Young in middle school, sneaking into Archie's house in the middle of the night. And young in high school, which really wasn't so long ago, and seeing him, really seeing him, for the first time as what he truly was. 

Maybe when Jughead fell, Archie would be there to pick him up, to take him to wherever he was meant to be. That was a nice thought. There wouldn't be too many more of those, Jughead reminded himself.

Had Archie ever once cared for Jughead? Or was it pity the entire time? Jughead didn't know. He knew, in the back of his head, that Archie was his best friend, of course he cared for Jughead. But the thought was swept away by the strength of all the pain.

Archie had done nothing wrong. It was all Jughead, it was all in his head. And Betty. She hadn't done anything wrong either. She was so loving, so caring, all she wanted was the truth. There was never a more pure pursuit than the pursuit of truth. And the truth was the one thing Jughead had never been able to tell her. 

But neither Archie nor Betty had noticed anything. They didn't know about the leech that lived in Jughead's brain, and they didn't try to find out. But it's okay. It's okay now.

He had never written Archie a note, Jughead realized. He supposed the dream had put him off to the idea of notes. The dream had been true, in the end. Maybe it always had been. Maybe Jughead had written Archie a suicide note with every word he spoke, each word a plea, and each plea gone unheeded.

That last thought was too much to bear, and Jughead began his trek to the place where it all had to end. The place where his reporting career began, the place where all stories began, the river. The same river where Cheryl had taken Jason on that fateful day, the same river where Kevin had taken Moose on that enlightening night. It was only fair. Soon, that too, would be Jughead. One more story the river could tell the world, a story people whisper of behind closed doors, so as not to come off as rude, but they're all saying it so what does it matter.

The trees grew tall and old around him, and they hummed wisely to Jughead in the way trees do.

Jughead put one foot into the river.

The weather was beautiful. 

Jughead put the other foot in.

The water was cold. 

Jughead walked into the river.

The rapids were strong today.

In the distance, Jughead thought he could see a blue and gold letterman jacket.

Jughead smiled as he fell into the river.


	5. Chapter 5

There was turmoil, gasping and constricting and cold. It was all dark edges and Jughead was twisted by the rapids that surrounded him. 

It felt the way falling did. As if you had tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and just kept falling and there was no end to it. But Jughead knew, faintly, that there was an end, there would be an end, soon.

And then it was nothing.

And then…

It wasn't.

There was sun around him, and trees and air. And Jughead didn't feel dead but that was the only explanation for how he was on land because what felt like only moments ago, Jughead had been in a the middle of a river.

Jughead sat up, or tried to, because the moment he tried to move his arms, a buzzing over took him and he fell back to the ground. Weak.

His visions blurred, and he could sense his body shivering. His ears were filled with water, the sound of rushing water filled his brain.

“Ar…” Was all Jughead could make out before he lapsed into a sputtering fit. 

Jughead felt the ground around him, it was soft yet rough, he was lying on branches. He could barely even feel the ground, though, everything was numb. But Jughead could see. And that was something. Jughead wasn’t sure it he liked it, if he wanted to see. After all, wasn’t the entire point of that endeavor that he would never have to see again? 

At first, all Jughead could think of was the fact that he was not, in fact, dead. He didn’t feel anything, no emotion was connected to that sentence. All he could do was lie there, on the barely felt dirt, and wonder how he had managed to ruin his own death, the one thing that Jughead had thought would go perfectly in his life.

The thing was, Jughead knew he should feel something, the same way he knew he should feel something for Betty. That was the way the story was supposed to go. He and Betty fall in love, they kiss, they date, it’s happily ever after. The same way he would throw himself off of the cliff that is life, he would blunder that up, realize that he doesn’t really want to die, and it’s happily ever after. But that didn’t happen. Death was as big a part of Jughead’s life and mind as it was the moment before his fall. 

Feeling was beginning to reach to Jughead’s fingers and toes, he could feel slightly more than he had moments ago, and Jughead finally had the strength to prop himself up on his elbows and look around, if only for a moment. In that moment, Jughead saw the trees of the forest that surrounded him, the river still raging beside him, and a jacket, hanging on one of the many branches on one of the many trees. It was blue and gold, letterman.

If there was a jacket, then that must mean there was an owner to that jacket. But that simple act of sitting slightly up, and turning his head to look around had Jughead worn out. Weak. That didn’t mean Jughead couldn’t think about the jacket and it’s meaning, though. The jacket was there, Archie’s jacket, the same that he had pictured the moment he fell, waiting for the wearer of that Riverdale High jacket to take him away. Jughead had been ready, waiting. The jacket was going to save him, the angel that wore that jacket was going to lead him, hand-in-hand to the world’s end. So what was it doing here, slung in a rushed fashion over a tree? And where was the angel?

Jughead could still barely move, but he managed to roll himself over onto his side, facing the river. Pitiful. 

In front of him, the river raged forcefully, and Jughead could barely comprehend why he wasn’t still in that river, why the angel hadn’t taken him away. 

In Jughead’s periphery, though, was the answer. The angel himself. Sitting on a fallen log, staring blankly at the river, was Archie Andrews. Clothes soaking wet, shoes and socks off and nowhere to be seen, probably flung to the side by the letterman jacket, the picture of despondency. Though Archie’s back was to him, Jughead could recognize the signs. He was hunched over on the edge of the log, head fixed into place as though he’d rather be looking anywhere else, but couldn’t bring himself to look away, and still. So very still. Jughead couldn’t stand it.

Archie was made to be moving, to be running or laughing or playing. He was always doing something, being somewhere, as if he had joy in his very blood. But now he was silent, and Jughead couldn’t even see whether or not he was breathing. The thought of Archie not breathing was enough to stop Jughead’s own breath.

So Jughead, shaking at the effort of it, used all of his minimal strength stand up, and make his way over to Archie, stumbling every step or two. But Archie didn’t notice, he seemed to have tuned out the world, until Jughead touched his shoulder, and Jughead looked down, into Archie’s eyes. They were red, but dry, as if tears had once trekked there, but had since ceased to fall.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then another moment. And then, Archie stood up off of the log, facing away from Jughead. And Jughead despaired, for Archie must never want to look at Jughead again. But, Archie turned one more moment later, new tears fresh in his eyes, and encapsulated Jughead in an embrace that was warm despite Archie’s freezing clothes, and they stayed like that for a while. Two boys had never been so glad that the other was alive.

But then they disentangled, and Archie looked Jughead in the eyes once again, and then his eyes widened, and he rushed away.

Not far, it turned out, but only to the tree where Archie’s jacket hung, before returning to face Jughead, and drape it over Jughead’s shoulders where it hung loosely. The jacket was much too large for Jughead, but it seemed like a perfect fit for him, too. It warmed Jughead to the core, and Archie’s gaze warmed him still further.

They still hadn’t said a word to each other.

The two were standing face to face. Archie was taller than Jughead, and Jughead had to crane his neck slightly to be able to look straight at him. But it didn’t matter. Jughead would suffer through any pain if it meant Archie would be there. 

Archie was still looking at Jughead, the tears had dried once again, and had been replaced with a pondering look. Jughead felt like looking away, in the back of his mind Jughead thought of how foolish he must look, a boy soaked through, with a too-large jacket hanging off his shoulders. But then Jughead focused on Archie again, and Archie didn’t seem to think Jughead looked foolish at all.

Archie seemed to be closer than before. Had Archie stepped closer, or had it been Jughead? 

They were very close now, barely a step apart, and Jughead could smell the river on Archie. It wasn’t a bad scent at all, as one might have thought considering the most recent action that had taken place there. Instead, Jughead smelled the angel that had saved him, that must have saved him, because who else could it have been?

Yes, the only being to have had the ability to save Jughead must have been the beautiful angel that was Archie. Because Archie was beautiful. Jughead had noticed it before, and he never ceased to notice it. But now, Jughead seemed to notice more about the figure before him. The dripping hair pressed flat against his skin, the brown eyes mixed with panic and an emotion Jughead couldn’t name, but found himself wishing he knew what it was. 

Their eyes were still on each other. Every second seemed to last years. Jughead would have spent lifetimes just looking at Archie, until he had memorized everything about him. 

But Jughead didn’t have that long. Jughead stepped toward Archie, a small, infinitesimal step forward, but then Archie stepped forward too. And then there weren’t any more steps to take. And Jughead looked further into Archie’s eyes, almost defiantly, and was met only with warmth on Archie’s side. 

Jughead felt Archie take his hand, and Jughead grabbed his other hand, and it felt like rebellion, it felt like simplicity, it felt like home.

There were no steps left to take, but Archie seemed to get even closer to Jughead until finally, finally, his lips touched Jughead’s own. Archie’s lips were like butterflies they were so soft and light, and warm, everything about Archie was so warm.

Jughead was sure his own lips must be cold and clammy, but Archie didn’t seem to mind.

There was nothing. There was nothing except Archie and his lips on Jughead’s own. There was a pulling feeling in Jughead’s stomach, and then the rest of his body was being pulled down, down, down, but Jughead didn’t notice because he was kissing Archie Andrews and his lips were warm and tasted like home. Not “home,” not a park bench, not a drive-in theater, not a school storage closet. Home. 

They still hadn’t said a word to each other, but the forest seemed to be even quieter than before. Somewhere along the way, Jughead had closed his eyes, but he wanted to see Archie, to make sure this was real, this wasn’t a post-death delusion. 

Jughead opened his eyes, and there was Archie. Right there, in front of Jughead, kissing Jughead. Archie’s eyes were open too, and smiling, and though they hadn’t spoken a word to each other, Jughead could have entire conversations solely with Archie’s eyes.

Archie’s lips were bliss. Jughead swore he could feel Archie’s heart, but maybe it was just his own.

The heartbeat got louder, and slower, and Jughead got warmer, then colder, and he felt Archie’s lips and arms around him, clutching at him, and when had that happened? And then Archie’s lips fell away, and why had that happened? And then the pulling sensation was back in Jughead’s stomach and he swayed and fell forward, eyes fluttering shut once more, hands still warm from holding Archie’s, and he kept falling and falling and Jughead wasn’t sure which direction he was falling in, and were his eyes closed or was everything just always this dark? Jughead could feel his hands shaking, why weren’t Archie’s hands in his? Everything was dark, and where had all the light gone? Where had the trees gone, Jughead couldn’t see them anymore.

Jughead didn’t care if he ever saw anything again because he had seen Archie Andrews look at him like there was nothing else worth looking at.

Jughead didn’t care if he ever felt anything again because he had felt Archie Andrews’ lips on his own, had felt Archie’s arms pressed hot against his back.

Jughead didn’t care if he ever heard anything again because he had heard Archie Andrews’ slight breath as they kissed and then parted, and then lapsed back into the familiar kiss and embrace that was the two of them, together.

And then there was absolutely nothing. And Jughead missed every sensation he’d recognized in the past moments.

But it was gone. There was nothing.

Where was the world?

Where was the angel?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Sorry it's been ages since I updated, life is tough, but all's well that ends well (hopefully), so here I am again! Hope you enjoy!

Jughead blinked his eyes, several times. Was he still in the forest? Was he still with Archie? That was the one thing Jughead could remember clearly. He had been with Archie. And not just that, he had kissed Archie. Or Archie had kissed him. Jughead couldn’t remember.

Other than that, everything was a blur. Why had they stopped kissing? Where was Jughead now?

It seemed he kept on waking, over and over, and then falling asleep, over and over, and there was no end to it. Just waking and sleeping, waking and sleeping, waking and sleeping. Over and over and over. Again and again. It was exhausting. Too much for one day, for one life, for one boy. Why couldn’t he just sleep?

Everything was still blurry, and Jughead could feel the world spinning around him. Jughead knew he was inside, though, and for a moment, he panicked. Was this the hospital? Had he gone far, far away to a hospital with iron beds and bars on the windows, to a place where money is everything; a currency which Jughead had little of?

The world kept on spinning, and Jughead worked to focus his eyes. He could sense a person next to him and shied away as best he could, the person must have been a doctor. But then the person reached out and touched jughead gently, on the shoulder. And Jughead knew it couldn’t have been a doctor because doctors aren’t ever that gentle, though Jughead had little experience with doctors to base his conclusion on. 

But Jughead proved to be correct, the person touching him wasn’t a doctor at all, and when Jughead finally managed to center his vision, Jughead saw the kind eyes of Fred Andrews staring down at him. 

“Fred…?” What was Fred doing here? Jughead’s mind rushed to comprehend what was going on. This story was far from the path it had set out on. Wasn’t something going to happen with Betty? But then why did he and Archie kiss? And he had killed himself, why was Jughead still alive? Jughead’s head hurt from all this thinking, the room began to sway again.

“Jughead? Hey, Jughead, it’s all right, we’ve got you. We’re here, Jughead, focus, stay with us.” 

We? Was another person there? The room was so vague, fading in and out, but Jughead did as Fred asked and tried to center his vision once again, this time finding the other person Fred spoke of.

Oh. Of course. How could Jughead not have realized? It was the angel. Archie. 

This was going to be difficult. The pieces were beginning to fall into place, but Jughead didn’t like the picture that they made. No matter what, this was going to end with Jughead explaining himself to the Andrews, to the world, to himself. Jughead couldn’t do that, couldn’t think, his mind was too empty for thought, everything was so, so cold.

It hadn’t been, though, for a moment. Jughead thought back to the forest, and everything had been cold and dark, except for one moment. Everything had been rapids and water and the edge of a cliff, except for once. That one moment with Archie, before everything went away, that had been comforting and full of life, which was so strange. There had always been little life for Jughead. Jughead wished he could always have that comfort with him. Though he would probably ruin it all, wouldn’t he. Because that was what Jughead did. Stepped away from the story and made sure it stayed that way.

But Jughead didn’t want there to be a story anymore, whether he was in it or not. He wanted to find the entire damned book and set it on fire because that was what it deserved, everything that he had observed everything he had been a part of, everything he knew and thought, all of that deserved to burn. It needed to burn, but Jughead couldn’t find the lighter, despite searching for hours, so he was stuck with a book that had been doused in gasoline and all it needed was a lighter, so where was the lighter? Where was the lighter so he could burn the story?

“Step away from the story, I need to step away from the story, why am I still in the story, why am I still in the story, why is there still a story here, why is it here?! Why?” 

Jughead muttered to himself, eyes wide, still staring at the ceiling, the immediate world forgotten to the depths of his mind, the ceiling was white, the walls were blue, he was talking about a story, weren’t there people around him somewhere? There were, there definitely were people around here, people he knew, people who were part of the story. Did they need to burn, too? Jughead couldn’t remember.

But then someone grabbed his hand, and it felt like fire, but this fire wasn’t meant to kill. It was warm and flickering, a fire meant to protect. And Jughead brought his eyes from the ceiling, his mind from the void, and focused on the hand. 

“Hey, Jughead, we’re here, remember? Remember, I got you back? I got you back from the river? You’re here now, you’re with me, you’re in my house, my room.”

Ah. So that’s where Jughead was. That was relieving, to say the least. As always, Archie’s home would provide a safeness for Jughead that nowhere else could.

“Jughead, I’m going to get you another blanket, okay? Do you need another?” Fred. Another moment, and Jughead felt an added pressure on his body that he recognized to be the blanket.

Jughead could feel himself coming back to the world with every word they spoke, and eventually Jughead decided it was time to fully return, no matter how much he dreaded it. 

The conversation they were going to have would be extremely difficult. Even if Fred and Archie didn’t completely mock and ridicule Jughead, which Jughead still partially believed them to do, the conversation would be difficult. It would be filled with awkward pauses in between even more awkward questions and answers, and in the end, it would have to be Jughead who would make a decision. 

But it would have to happen at some point no matter what happened, so at last Jughead sat up, his back resting on what felt like a thousand pillows, but in reality was probably about five.

Once fully sitting against the bed, Jughead faced the two before him and braced for what was to come.

In the end, it was Fred who spoke first. He had always been better at talking, it must come with being a father (does it though? Jughead hadn’t really met any other father so like Fred). 

“Jughead. I know that before I said you didn’t have to talk about your situation if you didn’t want to, and while I generally believe that’s true, I think you also do need someone you can share your life with. And maybe Archie and I aren’t the best people for that, there are professionals who could probably give much more help than we cou-”

“No! Please, I don’t- I can’t- They- They’ll…” Jughead tapered off, not knowing how to end his statement, only hoping that he had gotten his point across- no doctors. Especially not in Riverdale.

Jughead sighed and spotted his beanie on the bedside table. He grabbed it, not putting it on, just holding it to his chest, needing something to hold. Conversation- Real conversation- had never come easy to Jughead.

“I’ll talk to you two. You’re the closest people in my life.” Jughead said it shortly, eyes averted, staring at the indent his feet made below the sheets of the bed.

Archie seemed to start at that, but recovered quickly, and looked back at jughead before talking.

“Jughead, listen. Before any of us says anything, I just… I want you to know that you’re really important to me, and you always have been. I… You probably didn’t… I must’ve not shown it very well, but it’s true. I don’t know what I would do without you Jughead.” Jughead looked up at Archie, and from there it seemed to all pour out. “I need you Jughead, you keep me who I am, and this kind of sounds weird probably but I want you to know that I’m here. Tell me, please! Tell me when I’m not enough, and I will be, don’t ever tell me nothing for any reason at all because I’ll always, always be here. No matter what.”

It was like Fred had gone, and it was just Archie and Jughead. Two boys, vulnerable and trying to fight. Jughead looked up at Archie, and his eyes were piercing, where Jughead’s eyes must have been watery and weak. Archie stood and stepped over to the bed before sitting down, never breaking eye contact, as if when they did, everything would be gone. Maybe it would. Who knows?

“I’ll take care of you. I don’t care what it takes for me to do that but I will, because you matter, Jughead, you matter.”

All Jughead could do was nod, this conversation was going in an entirely different direction than he thought it was going to. He had thought this was going to be awkward and rushed and colder than the river, but this was Archie. And when it was Archie there was nothing anyone could do except believe what was being said. Maybe there would be no future for Jughead. Jughead still couldn’t bear the thought of a future where he had to live with himself. 

But right now, there was Archie. Archie with his clothes still soaking from pulling Jughead out of the river, despite that probably happening hours ago. Archie who cared, despite Jughead being blind to it, or Archie stumbling to show it, Archie cared for Jughead.

And Jughead cared for Archie.

Archie had just spoken, but it seemed like ages since Jughead had heard any noise, he had been looking at Archie, and Archie had been looking at him. And then Fred broke the silence.

“Jughead, when it’s alright with you, we are going to talk about this. But not now. The day is still young, and I’m sure you two have a lot to discuss, important or otherwise. So I’m going to head down to the construction site, and make sure everything’s going smoothly. I’ll be back later, so see you soon.” The last sentence was addressed to both boys, and with that, Fred left the room, leaving Archie and Jughead alone.

Best friends as they’d always been, just grown up a little bit, and yet still so childish, in so many ways.


End file.
